


Valentine's Day, 1996

by bigbrotherandlittlebrother



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6013780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbrotherandlittlebrother/pseuds/bigbrotherandlittlebrother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day, 1996</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day, 1996

It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996, and Sam is sitting near the fire where you left him. He’s got a book in one hand and a cup of hot coco in the other. He’s just 13 but he’s beautiful. His long stem-like branches are shooting up quickly, and you know one day he’ll be as tall as you and you won’t be able to sweep down those few inches and hold him in your arms. 

It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996, and you love Sam. Sam is your life. He’s the gold printed color of the sun and the emerald tint of the spring needles living in the ground. 

Sam is a melody, a poem with a thousand words. A billet-doux made just for you. 

It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996, and Sam is sitting near the fire and you’re right next to him. He’s got his head on your shoulder and his arm around your chest. He smells like vanilla and cheap soap. It’s strong but its Sam’s smell, so you love it.

His words are whispers and the earth shakes at them. 

“I love you, Dean.” He tells you, and he’s got his lips pressed against your throat and its Valentine’s Day, 1996 but you think you might be in love.

  
Sam’s hair is spider’s silk, the colors matching the depths of volcanoes.

  
“I love you, Dean.” He promises you and you believe him, down to your very core.

  
His hair is in your fingers. The tips of your nails combing out the knots. Sam is a beat of your heart and the membrane in your lungs, begging to be breathed in.

  
It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996 when your lips find his.

  
It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996, and Sam’s tinsel sparkled eyes look into yours. You can see right through them, all the way to his soul, that soft, quiescent thing. An imaginable like potion, a drug made just for you.

  
“Thank you, Dean.” He smiles at you, so you smile back.

  
His head falls on your chest, it’s heavy and constricting but you still crave it all the more.

  
Your backs on the floor and Sam’s on top of you, legs wrapped around your waist, dragon breaths against the pulse of your throat. And your arms lock around his mile pathed spine, and your heart beats into his and you love Sam and Sam loves you too.

  
It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996 and dad has gone out on a hunt and the fire is warm but Sam is even warmer, and this is a day you’ll know will live through your head till your bones become frail and brittled, and wrinkles mar at your skin.

  
Because It’s Valentine’s Day, 1996 and Sam is yours.


End file.
